Art – Matt Chambliss
Hot, wet, sultry summer
Damp heat hangs heavy, thickening the air
Shallow moist labored breaths
Weighty footsteps, deliberate, tread one by one
No relief in sight
The longest day is done, passed
The dry time approaches, baking earth
Greens rule today but browns will break when the earth cracks
Followed by yellows orange and red
Upon awakening I sensed a slight shifting signaling
The beginning of the end of the summer season
Zenith reached and turns toward tomorrow
Which yet lies over the horizon, out of view
The march of days has begun toward the next
The fragrance of Fall will secret itself between the rise and setting of the sun
Cooler crisp air will fill the spaces abandoned by the heat
Finding its place and quietly holding it until the coming of the cold
The waning has begun, a slow silent leak
Expansion halted now recedes, contraction begun
Longing for the sharp cold to cut through the malaise
To energize me once again in that time between seasons
Where the death of summer births the winter
For now I will trudge step by step along my way
I will harvest the final fruit of this year’s effort
Thankful for the grace of its bounty and provision
Yet wishing for something new, more, other than what I have produced
It was new ground, hoarded seeds of Self reluctantly surrendered, sown into the dark unknown
Trepidation’s trembling all along that way but ultimately unheeded
And now there is a new garden growing, one that has never been before
Something original done by my hand that only exists because I prepared and planted it
Triumph of risk over failure’s fear, an odd idea, a dream made manifest in the flesh
To have done the thing is something but what was I expecting
I was just experimenting and exploring the unknown of me, seeing if I could
It’s clear I can but now what, for what, I don’t know
As the seasons of me turn over and over, round and round, I unfold in unexpected ways
There remains a vast expanse of unknowing, my doing and being somehow reflecting that mystery
Maybe there is no ultimate answer to it. My being says do and my doing says just be
I do know that is it hot and wet and green and that I can
But right now it is hard to harvest hazy thoughts in this heat
And I contract slowly like the season knowing that another is even now on its way to me
The slow warm exhale of what has been empties me, making room for a cool crisp new life giving breath
So, now sustained by what remains I await, I trudge, I harvest and save the seeds for a new, new garden
Perhaps that is the way of things
After the doing is done there is only being
Buds break becoming blossoms then just soak in the sun for a season
Until they are spent, color fading falling back to the earth to become part of the new that is to come
Yes, surely that is the way of things
It is somewhere in summer boy. Why would you expect it to be different than it is
Sometimes I don’t know about you. You will be complaining about the cold soon enough
Be Groovy! 🙂
